The Snake Pit
by princess-tiff90
Summary: After she is expelled from her London prep school for setting a science lab on fire, Hermione Granger is visited by Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. Finally feeling as though she has found her place in life, Hermione travels to Hogwarts. But when she gets there, she is sorted into a house which despises the very blood which courses through her veins.


_**Roses are red**_

_**Violets are blue**_

_**I don't own Harry Potter**_

_**This is sad, but true.**_

* * *

A little girl sat in her living room, sandwiched between her parents on their creamy coloured couch. Her father was sitting to her left and fidgeting nervously with his red and white striped tie. His right knee was bouncing up and down causing the cushion the girl was sitting on to vibrate uncomfortably. Her mother sat rigidly, facing straight ahead. Her curly brown hair had escaped the tie she had wrapped around it that morning and it was framing her head like a frizzy mane.

"I trust you know why I am here, Mr and Mrs Granger?" The girl's headmistress was sitting across from the family of three, her thin lips pressed into a tight line, and her dark, pencilled eyebrows arched in blatant disapproval of the student in front of her.

"Yes, Ms Latch, your secretary explained the incident to my wife over the phone."

The Headmistress sniffed and shuffled some papers in her thin, wrinkly hands. "Well then," she began, her light blue eyes finding the girl's, "You understand that Hermione's actions today have earned her an expulsion from Newton Prep?"

"Ex-expulsion?" Mrs Granger stammered, "Surely Hermione simply made a mistake…she can't have left the burner turned on purposefully. She wouldn't!"

The Headmistress smiled a grim smile, "Mrs Granger, I know you are unwilling to believe your daughter is anything but innocent, but I have witnesses - other students who have all told me that Hermione was the only one in the lab after classes had finished. Who else could it have been?"

Mr and Mrs Granger shared a quick glance with one another before both turning their gaze to Hermione. The girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"It wasn't me," she stated quietly but clearly, "And I wasn't in the lab by choice. Georgia Green locked me in there. I shouted at her and the other children to let me out but they wouldn't open the door. They were laughing at me. I kept banging on the door but no one came, and then…" she frowned down at her lap, picking at non-existent lint on her tartan skirt, "I was angry, and I was banging on the door very hard. I don't know how it happened. The next thing I knew I could smell smoke and the desk was on fire. I swear I didn't touch the Bunsen burner, I just wanted to be let out!" Hermione was twisting the hem of her skirt around her fingers, trying to distract herself from the stinging sensation behind her big brown eyes.

"Perhaps someone forgot to turn theirs off after class," Mr Granger offered, his gaze still on Hermione.

"Yes, did you check who was sitting in the spot during class?" Mrs Granger looked at the Headmistress hopefully.

The Headmistress pursed her lips, "It was Georgia Green's desk. I have spoken to the science specialist, and she tells me that the burners were all turned off when she left the lab."

Hermione scowled at the Headmistress. Of course Georgia Green would be perceived as the innocent one. She was a popular girl among students and staff alike. And she hated Hermione.

As the Headmistress opened her mouth to address her parents once more, Hermione caught the flash of movement behind her, through the window to the front garden. The sheer lace curtains had been pulled aside to let the sunshine in, and now lazing on their window sill was a grey tabby cat. It locked eyes with Hermione and stared.

Hermione stared back until her eyes began to water and she was forced to blink. The cat seemed satisfied with this, and began to watch the back of the Headmistress's head with a stern expression.

Hermione shook herself. Stern expression? Since when did cats have expressions?

"…think that it would be best if Hermione was to change schools after the Summer holidays," the Headmistress was saying.

The Grangers were silent a moment, and Hermione glanced back and forth between her parents as they had a silent conversation with their eyes.

"Very well," Mr Granger finally sighed, "We will look into other arrangements for next term."

The headmistress smiled her tight smile, "Thank you for your understanding," she said curtly. She stood from her chair and straightened her maroon pencil skirt. When the Grangers stood as well, she shook each of their hands and told them she was capable of showing herself out.

Hermione, meanwhile, had gone back to looking at the cat. It was still sitting on the sill, watching the exchange in the lounge room.

"I'm going to ask you once and once only, Hermione," her mother's tired voice brought Hermione back to the present, "did you or did you not set fire to the desk in the science lab?"

"No, I didn't!" Hermione shook her head emphatically, her eyes wide, "I was telling the truth before, I promise. I have no idea how the Bunsen burner caught alight."

"Alright then," her mother breathed, "Well that's that. We're going to have to find you a new school for next term."

Hermione felt her throat constrict at the sound of disappointment in her mother's voice. She simply nodded, staring at her feet until she heard both her parents leave the room. She heard pots begin to clang from the kitchen signalling that her mother was starting to prepare dinner. Hermione thought briefly of helping her, before remembering the strange cat on the windowsill. She turned back to the window, but the tabby had gone. Hermione frowned. She was very fond of cats but was not allowed a pet one because her father was very allergic.

Deciding she had a few minutes to spare before her mother would call her in to help with dinner, Hermione dashed for the front door with the intention of finding the cat. She wrenched the white wooden door towards her, and skidded to a halt as she realised someone was standing on her doorstep.

"Ooof!" She cried, startled, "I'm dreadfully sorry, I – " Hermione's voice died in her throat as she looked up into the face of her visitor. It was a severe looking woman, who appeared to be wearing some sort of costume, complete with a crooked witch's hat. Her black hair was pulled back into a bun, almost as tight as the one Ms Latch had been sporting. Sharp green eyes peered down at Hermione behind square glasses.

"Good evening," the woman spoke with a faint Scottish accent, "Am I correct in assuming that this is the Granger residence?"

Hermione nodded, still too shocked to speak.

"Hermione!" Her mother called from the kitchen, "Who are you talking to? I need your help chopping some – oh! Hello!" Mrs Granger had appeared in the front hallway wiping her hands on a flowery apron she had draped over her blue work pants.

She came to stand behind Hermione, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I am Jane Granger," she extended her hand to the visitor, eying her strange outfit warily.

"Mrs Granger," the woman nodded curtly, "My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I might request we move this inside as I have some sensitive information to discuss with you concerning young Hermione here."

Mrs Granger dropped her extended hand and moved aside. She motioned for the woman named McGonagall to move into the hallway, and then shut the door behind her.

"Is your husband home?" McGonagall asked, removing her pointed hat.

"Yes he's…" Mrs Granger was cut off by the heavy foot falls of her husband, who soon appeared beside her.

"Hello," he smiled at McGonagall, "I'm George Granger. How can we help?"

"She has information about Hermione," Mrs Granger muttered, her eyes still trained on McGonagall's hat.

"Oh," Mr Granger blinked, "well then, do come through to the lounge."

Hermione staggered into the lounge, having been guided none too gently by her mother's iron grip on her shoulder. She positioned herself in the middle of the couch once more and watched as McGonagall folded herself into the arm chair opposite. Her parents remained standing; her mother's hip leaning against the couch and her father near the archway that lead to the kitchen.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," the woman repeated slowly, "and I am the deputy headmistress of a school called Hogwarts."

The Grangers looked at each other in shock. How could this woman know they needed to organise schooling for Hermione already? Their daughter had only been expelled half an hour ago.

When McGonagall received no response from the Grangers she cleared her throat and continued, "Hogwarts is not your ordinary boarding school. It is a special school for young witches and wizards." McGonagall watched as the Granger's eyes bugged and their jaws dropped, but continued steadily, "It is not uncommon for a young witch or wizard to be born into what we call a muggle family - that is, to parents who are non-magical. Parents such as yourselves."

"I'm sorry," Mr Granger said hoarsely, "I don't understand…is this a joke?"

McGonagall peered at him carefully, "I don't joke, Mr Granger."

"But it has to be a joke," Mrs Granger said timidly, "Our Hermione, a witch? How is that even possible…magic doesn't exist, does it?" She turned to her husband as if he could resolutely conclude that magic does not exist.

"I see you may need proof," McGonagall replied curtly. She reached into her black robes and pulled out a thin wooden stick. Hermione leant forward subconsciously, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

McGonagall gripped the stick in her hand firmly, twirling her wrist in a complicated motion. Four tea cups appeared in the air and began hovering towards each of the room's occupants. Hermione stared at hers in delight, plucking it out of the air and taking a sip.

"Oh my goodness," Mrs Granger held out a shaking hand and gripped the handle of her teacup.

Mr Granger was silent as he slowly backed away from the advancing tea cup until his back was flat against the wall.

"I'd take it if I were you, Mr Granger," McGonagall said with what sounded to Hermione like the tiniest bit of mirth, "They can be rather insistent, tea cups."

Mr Granger was now staring in fear at the tea cup as it raised itself to his eye level and beyond, and began lightly tapping him on the forehead with its handle.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall turned to Hermione, placing her teacup in her lap, "I am assuming this is not such a shock to you as it has been to your parents?"

"Not really, ma'am, no." Hermione replied honestly.

"Judging by the conversation I overhead this afternoon, your magic has already begun to present itself."

Hermione nodded.

"What do you mean her magic has already presented itself? Hermione, what does that mean?" Mr Granger glanced furtively between his daughter and McGonagall.

"It means that the incident at Hermione's school today was both her fault, and not her fault. As an underage witch, Hermione has yet to harness her powers. When she experiences strong emotions, her magic can take over. Today for example, it is my guess that she was indeed locked in the laboratory by one of her peers, and in her frustration to get out, she caused a fire. At Hogwarts, we teach our students to control their magic. That is why I am here. I need to know whether Hermione will be joining us for next term. Here," she reached into her robes again and retrieved an envelope made of yellow parchment. She handed it to Hermione, who took it with shaking fingers.

On the front in elegant green script was her name and address:

Hermione Jane Granger

48 Balfern Street

London

Her parents had moved behind her, her father having given in to his tea cup which was now resting in his left hand. Hermione flipped the envelope over to reveal a wax stamp. She slid her index finger along the underside of the envelope, tearing it open. Inside was two pieces of parchment, both the same yellow as the envelope.

"Dear Miss Granger," she began to read out loud, "We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment."

Hermione tossed the letter to the side, revealing the second piece of parchment listing her books and equipment.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" She said breathlessly, "Mum, Dad, please say I can go! Please say I can go to Hogwarts!" Her eyes were bright and she wore a grin on her face as she looked between her parents.

Mr and Mrs Granger, still recovering from the shock of finding out their daughter was a witch, turned to each other and had another one of their silent conversations.

Mr Granger turned to McGonagall, "Where are we supposed to buy her school supplies?" he asked meekly, peering back over Hermione's shoulder, "I know of no shops in London that sell…size two pewter cauldrons."

McGonagall's mouth twitched in a way which made Hermione think she was suppressing a smile, "A representative from the Ministry of Magic will contact you in regards to accessing Diagon Alley. There you will find a bank to exchange your muggle money into our currency, and everything Miss Granger will require for her first year at Hogwarts."

Mr Granger nodded in response.

"I will take my leave now," McGonagall stood and placed her pointed hat back on her head, "It was lovely to meet you, Miss Granger. I will see you on September first." She nodded to the girl, who was still engrossed in her book list.

"Good evening, Mr and Mrs Granger." She smiled tightly at the couple, and then swept from the room. Hermione jumped when the front door click close, and she watched through the window for the silhouette of McGonagall to walk past. However, all she saw was the grey tabby cat slinking between the cars parked on the street, before it disappeared into the lengthening shadows.


End file.
